Why am I listening to this pitch-corrected-to-death excrement when we should all be watching Jeffree Star's Cunt of Love (or something to that effect) on VH1?

If Tila Tequila taught us nothing else, it's that MySpace celebs make spectacular reality TV stars — and truly awful musicians. Although Star, the self-appointed "Cunt Queen of the Internet," is a symptom of that Warholian phenomenon that accords notoriety to people who have accomplished nothing (well, in fairness, Star's done make-up for Kelly Osbourne and Davey Havok, and that's got to be harder than it sounds), that doesn't mean he can't make a positive contribution to popular culture. Just imagine a reality dating show where Star, a dead ringer for Mechanical Animals–era Marilyn Manson, goes through dudes who look like 12 Pack from I Love New York like a pneumonic monkey through snot rags. The entire Bible Belt would flip its collective shit. It would be epic — perhaps enough to atone for Cupcakes, an aimless mess of electronica clichés that's unimaginative and annoying.

It remains possible that Star is aiming for self-depreciation, or parody, with lyrics like "Fuck me, I'm a celebrity/I'll make you (moan) me just to get somewhere." But, really, this type of narcissistic, retarded sexuality hasn't been shocking or provocative since . . . gee . . . The Real World: Las Vegas, maybe?

Strippers, cursing, and free music Students have been back in town only a few weeks, but already there’s noise about curtailing their bad habits. Here’s a list of what those pesky kids have been up to.

Hoary days DOWN THUNDER ROAD: THE MAKING OF BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, by Marc Eliot with the participation of Mike Appel. Simon & Schuster, 382 pages, $23.

Newspapers censor Bono’s ‘fucking’ gaffe Why does our ostensibly “free” press insist on acting like prudes or cowards when reporting stories for which it’s vital that readers learn someone said “fuck” rather than an undefined “expletive”?

California comfort With the touch of two keys, “Mr. Pitiful” began, the crowd erupted, and Costa’s southern comfort turned into a pop star fiasco.

All eyes on me Lines upon learning of the recent stipulation, by the pop artist Madonna, that any journalist wishing to complete an interview with her must maintain eye contact at all times.

Choke holds That interesting man Chuck Barris has written another book.

Three in one Lloyd Thayer is recounting the roster of instruments he plays as we enjoy Indian food in a Central Square restaurant.

The U.S. VS. John Lennon Those who are drawn to the darker side of John Lennon may find this documentary from David Leaf and John Scheinfeld’s about the murdered ex-Beatle’s political activism a tad squeaky clean. Watch the trailer for The U.S. VS. John Lennon (QuickTime)

HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS | WELCOME OBLIVION | March 13, 2013 Whereas the monsters and ghosts of NIN songs can scream in your face and rip you to bits with their fangs, Welcome Oblivion tracks like techno-folk haunter "Ice Age" and the doom-pop jaunt "How Long?" make uncredited cameo appearances in your nightmares until you go insane and eat your own hands.

JOHNNY MARR | THE MESSENGER | February 25, 2013 Going solo is rarely a good decision. For every exception to the rule of who flourishes after unburdening themselves of the half-talents that have been holding them back — Justin Timberlake, for one — there are dozens of embarrassing Dee Dee Ramone rap albums that exist because Joey and Johnny Ramone weren't around to kibosh a terrible idea.

WHAT'S F'N NEXT? BUKE AND GASE | January 29, 2013 Almost every person I've told about Buke and Gase assumes that they'll hate this band, which isn't their fault.

BLEEDING RAINBOW | YEAH RIGHT | January 23, 2013 The only defect of the sort-of-but-not-really debut from Bleeding Rainbow (no longer called Reading Rainbow, possibly due to litigious ire festering under LeVar Burton's genial television persona) is that the Philly foursome merely hop off the launching point forged by Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine, and a handful of others from the oft-exalted grunge era.